Moments Like These
by Kyuunen
Summary: Nine flashes of existence in nine drabbles. Bits and pieces in the lives of Nathaniel and Bartimaeus. BartxNat.


Nine drabbles for your pleasure, written in the time frame of a nine-song playlist. The titles of the songs that inspired these drabbles are not included, because a few of them were too hilariously embarrassing. Instead I gave each drabble an individual title. In any case, read on and enjoy.

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**Moments Like These  
(or The First Nine Songs for Nathaniel and Bartimaeus)**

_by KyuuketsukiShounen_

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**Livewire**

Bare bulbs fizz in the darkness, humming electric tunes. For the time being John Mandrake seems to have forgotten his name. The lights strung up along the street posts just barely illuminate the look in his eyes. He laughs and sprints down the street, only turning to call out to Bartimaeus.

"Are you coming or not?"

_Nathaniel_, Bartimaeus wants to say, just to feel the name on his lips without the usual sharp irony. But instead he rises up from the pavement and grins devilishly, plunging headfirst into the boy's stomach from fifty feet away, laughing as the other has the wind knocked out of him.

...

**Scratch**

It's not a foreign sensation. The feeling that I'm reaching inside my chest and scraping at the empty insides to find something to hold on to. I vaguely wonder what will happen if I call out your name. But there's nothing to be had. Birth name or no, you're not a spirit of fire and essence to be summoned.

I can just vaguely recreate the way your voice twisted around my name. Wrenching the syllables out inelegantly, dismissively. Possessively. Cupping it close to your chest. But you did not own me. And I will never have you again.

...

**This Ferry Goes to Weymouth**

Waiting at the dock, Bartimaeus can hardly keep his essence from holding a single form. Beetle to hummingbird to paperclip and back, he shifts excitedly again and again in Nathaniel's pocket enough for the boy to reach in and give a light flick in annoyance. The ocean air, salty as ever, flows in through the fibers of the coat, and even sitting in the lint and crumb-filled darkness Bartimaeus feels refreshed.

The djinni, knowing his master's fickle body, can't wait to see what the boy will look like green to the gills with sea sickness. But an hour into the ride when he crawls out as a field mouse, and sees the boy's sleeping face, calm for once and not knotted with nightmares, he vaguely wonders if years ago Nathaniel's mother would rock him to sleep and whisper like waves lapping on sand.

...

**Shh**

No words. Just the sound of his throat gulping, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation. Nathaniel has backed himself up against the headboard defensively, and Bartimaeus has only to decide whether to kill him straight away or play with him until he only lingers at the edge of life. But something in Nathaniel's eyes tells the djinni that the boy would relish anything, just for someone to lay a finger on him, human or otherwise, for longer than a flashing moment.

...

**A Bell Tolls**

Kitty summoned him for the memorial. Bartimaeus remembers very little, aside from staring out the window of a disgustingly decadent fifth floor hotel room, as white flower petals rained down from the rooftops. A funeral parade in honor of all the deceased—magician and commoner alike—snailed along the narrow street below. Through the other door, in the hotel's main ballroom, the new government officials discussed in quiet tones the ways in which they could honor the fallen heroes; and Bartimaeus, a hundred feet away separated by walls of wood and plaster could already hear the clicking mechanisms of this new political order. The locomotive of power readied itself to return to its familiar grind, these bright new politicians soon to evolve thoughts as ravenous and bloodthirsty as the Empire just fallen.

When the car in honor of John Mandrake passed in the streets below, Bartimaeus felt a numbness tightening up at his core. Ptolemy's eyes seemed to glaze over upon sight of the flat portrait, displayed prominently atop the roof of the vehicle. And when the party was over, he asked Kitty to please, never summon him again to this dreadful city.

...

**memento mori**

"You'll forget me," he says suddenly. Bartimaeus, in the middle of grinding a handful of coffee beans, looks over his shoulder with an eyebrow raised.

"What's that?"

"In a thousand years, you'll be God knows where," Nathaniel says, face intent as it stares down at the stack of documents at his desk. His gaze flickers up at Bartimaeus, but he can't keep eye contact long before his mouth twists strangely and he turns away to the window. "You'll remember London, I think. It's a fine city."

Bartimaeus turns away and presses the button on the coffee grinder. And a sick feeling creeps around in his essence, telling him that he'll be remembering this boy, the same way he remembers the last. And when the coffee finishes grinding he turns to his master, glaring to hide the humiliating spike of panic that has caught him. And growls, "Don't do anything stupid."

...

**Another Way to Drown**

Nathaniel's drunkenness does not make for a more charming fellow. Like many other men, he only grows darker, and more persistent, more demanding. And as Bartimaeus discovers after one too many jibes, more violent.

Ptolemy's form shivers horribly, blots of essence leaking from his pores like sweat, binding spells and silver handcuffs keeping him firmly in place. The mere body heat makes the djinni's consciousness sway strange, while Mandrake whispers threats in his ear with filthy wine-soaked breath.

...

**Maybe you'll stop lying someday.**

"This doesn't mean anything," Nathaniel says, attempting his damnedest to swear it solemnly. But he can only grunt it haltingly, with the way Bartimaeus has his breath caught somewhere in his larynx, and he doesn't even want to glance in the mirror to see the way his hair has been tousled. He's already sure he's making quite the spectacle of himself, with the way the djinni can't seem to stop—and as much as he hates to admit it, he may be actively encouraging the activity.

"Yeah, yeah," Bartimaeus replies. "Now shut up."

...

**Moments Like These**

"Come, Bartimaeus," he says, a wry smirk painted across his pale face. I would comment that perhaps he should wipe the expression clean, because after all, he'd never have gotten even half this far without a certain djinni's help. But I've got the same stupid grin, so I can't complain; I'm enjoying this, too.

Another case cracked, and we've just deposited the criminal, trussed and tied, on the desk of the secretary for the Night Police. The very same criminal their officers have been unable to apprehend for four years. I myself can't wait to see the expression on that Jane Farrar's face. But on second thought, if Nathaniel would keep smiling like that, I'm not sure I'd take the time to look away.

///

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading! These were pretty fun to write, so I might be doing this again sometime later.

As always, reviews are appreciated! I'd be interested to see which ones people liked the most.


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